ATTENTION: THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE, REMEMBER TO READ THE LAST CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE!
She doesn't want to do that again.
.oOo.
Ellington Lockwood, 18
District Nine Female
1 Kill
All too soon, the sixth night in the arena has passed and she feels like she doesn't know what to do.
Oh well, she's still here - and on the seventh day, for that matter. And Chase Farlay, the boy from District Eight, isn't.
Right now, her family will be conducting the final eight interviews with whatever pretty host they've decided to use. She remembers watching old final eight interviews with her family, frowning when she saw the grief in their eyes as they talked about their sibling or daughter or son or cousin or more. No one expected to see their own return home - well, no one but the careers, but the careers were like that. They expected everything to go their way, and when it didn't, they made it happen.
Elle wonders when she'll see the careers.
Who's left, anyway? Elle thinks back to that first night, when the faces of all of the dead tributes appeared in the sky. Fourteen in all, they were easy enough to remember - especially the ones who she had seen die. The tributes from One and Three, the boy from Five, and so on, all had surprised her.
Probably because she had expected to die in one of their places.
But no, she's still here. And she'll stay here for as long as she can - she wouldn't dream of doing anything else. She wants to win, she knows that she can win, she can win if she just keeps resting when she needs to and running whenever she hears the slightest sound.
It might be the cowardly thing to do, but hey - she doesn't want to see someone like the boy from Seven again. She doesn't want to do that again.
Whenever she looks down at her hands, now, all she can see is bruises that cover her fingers and, worst of all, bloodstains. They won't come off, even when she tries scrubbing them in the snow. The snow stays as white as it was when it first fell, and her hands stay painted red.
So she won't look at them.
Elle gets up from her position in the snow, shivering a bit. She slept in a tree last night - a tree! - and her back screams in agony when she tries to get up and properly stretch, But she forces her body to follow her will, and she turns back to look into the forest.
Back to the slopes, where she can look for a new place to hide. Even if there isn't one, she'll try.
The world is green and white and gold today, the sun glinting off of the snow and turning the trunks of the pine trees into shimmering wonders. She can hardly look at anything, it's so bright that it blinds her. She read somewhere that if a person looks at snow for too long, they can go blind from the light reflecting so perfectly or whatnot, and she finally understands what they mean. She can't bear to keep staring down at the snow.
She keeps her gaze focused upwards, watching the top of the trees for any warning signs. There aren't any that she can make out. Whatever birds that are in the arena aren't in this area, and she can't hear anything else. Right now, only Elle is enjoying this winter wonderland.
She'll be careful, though. She doesn't want to see anyone else.
No one. Not the snow, not her hands, and certainly not any other tribute.
Maybe she'll be able to see more clearly tomorrow.
.oOo.
It might not have been worth it to remove all of the slimy, horrible entrails inside of the rabbit, but the remainders taste fine enough.
.oOo.
Audra Zimanski, 16
District Five Female
1 Kill
Roasted rabbit, cooked over a fire of embers and glowing coals that Audra's worked to erase any trace of smoke from before it has a chance to reach the sky, tastes, oddly enough, just like chicken.
She loves it. Most of all, she loves the snare that she's set. She had asked for wire for a reason from the game makers - she had expected to use it as garotting wire, but it easily doubles as a trap. She'd spotted the rabbits a few days ago, and placed a small snare, nothing fancy, on one of their trails. After using the last of her food to attract the tiny critters, she found success a few hours ago when she spotted a rabbit in the throes of death. A rock to the head finished the job, and she skinned the rabbit as best as she could before getting around to gutting it.
It might not have been worth it to remove all of the slimy, horrible entrails inside of the rabbit, but the remainders taste fine enough.
She munches on another piece of roasted rabbit, staring up at the morning sky. It wasn't the breakfast she was planning - if she had to, she would have resorted to eating pine bark - but it's a welcome one nonetheless.
She'll just have to be careful. After all, she hasn't made it this far to go out next. There should be a cannon soon - it's Day Seven, after all, and there hasn't been a death in two days. People will be restless, feisty, ready to move around and do stupid things until they make one mistake that's too hard to recover from. There are wolves in these mountains, she's heard them howling on the long nights when no one but the frightened and the wary are awake.
No, she won't die so soon. She has too much to do.
It's strange to be here, all alone. Audra had expected an arena where she'd be able to interact with people, to get a chance to manipulate and talk and twist them around until she could flee, leaving only a dead body and a small needle prick between their toes. That's what she had expected, what she had prepared for. In an arena like that, she would have won easily.
But now? She doesn't know. There are the tributes who are alone and frightened and likely willing to take on an ally, even this late into the Games, just to have some company. But those are few and far between, and the rest are the careers and the outliers who mean business - the ones who are like her. Too many had died in the bloodbath for her to play a capable social game, so she had buckled down on the first day and prepared to survive.
Is this survival? Or is she thriving in this world where life can be snatched away with a loop of wire, a piece of steel, a rock to the head? She doesn't know, but she feels at peace here - she feels at home.
She might not be able to play to her strengths, but she has one last trick up her sleeve - she's adapted to the situation.
And that, in the end, could be the reason she gets home instead of the seven others here.
.oOo.
But when she's gathered her strength, when she's ready to try again, she'll find a new place to hide.
.oOo.
Bayleigh Mountainson, 12
District Ten Female
1 Kill
She's cold, and tired, and lost, and scared, and a million other things that she can't be bothered to name because she wants to go home.
But no, she's still in this bad dream with no way out. She doesn't know what to do anymore - all of her willpower ran out sometime yesterday when she slept in the cold because all of the cabins had burnt down. She's not sure, but she thinks that her lungs are burnt from the smoke and whatnot - they ache whenever she tries to breathe, and she's coughing whenever she moves at a pace even slightly faster than a turtle.
Maybe she just has a bad cold. But Bayleigh knows that even if it is, that still spells disaster - the careers are out there, looking for her, and anything that can slow her down will mean that she's a bigger target.
Today, she has to find a place to hide. If not, she'll be the next to die.
She's been walking alongside the slopes for a while, and only now she tries to jump at a seat on the ski lift to take her down the hill and away from here. Right now, she doesn't care if the careers are there. If she's lucky, they won't notice her until it's too late. The seats can be awfully high as they head back up the hill, after all - yet they're quite low as they make their way down, just low enough for her to try to grab them.
Her first attempt fails, of course, and she falls into the snow with a cry of surprise. Pushing herself back up, Bayleigh grits her teeth and tries again. This time, her efforts are met with the breath being knocked out of her lungs as the seat swings into her stomach.
But she holds on, and the little bit of strength left in her lets her pull herself up and fall down, gasping, onto the cold, metallic seat.
For now, she'll ride. But when she's gathered her strength, when she's ready to try again, she'll find a new place to hide.
She's not looking forward to that. But at least she has a chance to catch her breath, to feel safe, to know that she's moving and getting somewhere.
She doesn't feel as useless right now.
The ski lift is still moving like clockwork, and Bayleigh musters up the willpower to look back up at the forest around her. The ski trails still weave through the mountains like stray threads that are pulled out of the top of the mountain, and the forest is dark green with the evergreen trees that never die. But she can see the ashes of what once were cabins, grimacing when she sees the one that she had gotten out of.
A few minutes more, and she'd be some of those ashes.
The ski lift is nothing if it's not efficient, and she soon reaches the bottom of the ski slope. The chalet is only a few feet away, and she shivers as she looks through the glass windows to see if there are any of the careers in there. Hopefully, they're all hunting for tributes - and failing, for that matter.
When she can see a girl inside of the cornucopia, rooting around for something inside, Bayleigh hunches into the seat as if she can sink into it. She hopes that they won't see her - please don't let the careers see her, she begs the game makers silently, but the seat soon turns around on the mechanism that keeps turning the wire. Ever so slowly, it moves back around before turning Bayleigh's seat back to the top of the mountain.
She's safe. She's safe. She's safe.
Well, she should be. But when she hears the trident whistle through the air and towards her, Bayleigh's not so sure of that.
.oOo.
They're going hunting this afternoon, and she's excited.
.oOo.
Lumara Barrett, 15
District Four Female
1 Kill
Lumara curses when the trident misses the girl. Of course it had, her seat had been heading up the mountain and away from where she had aimed. Instead, it hits another seat with a satisfying crunch before falling into the snow. Lumara trots out of the door to go get it, digging around in the snow to make sure that she's found the golden weapon before hurrying back to the cornucopia. After all, she'll be switching shifts with another one of the careers today.
They're going hunting this afternoon, and she's excited.
She had been upset when she discovered that the careers had killed someone - without her - but accepted it after giving herself a moment to cool down. Lumara knows that the careers are still a bit uneasy around herself and her temper - she's still uncomfortable around them - but they're learning to get along, and she'll prove herself to them eventually. She just needs a chance to do so.
Just one chance.
The girl from Ten must be halfway up the mountain, far away from where the careers are heading. Lumara sighs, but doesn't do anything to chase after her. She has no idea where the other tributes are, and her one job right now is to guard the cornucopia. They can't afford to lose their supplies, even just a few, when there's still four strong tributes in the arena.
Other than the career pack, of course. But soon enough, there'll be more of the careers than the outliers.
They'll see. And she'll be right along with them, knowing that this is her chance to win the Hunger Games and get back home. As a warrior. As someone braver than she is.
As a career.
She settles back in the bed she's made out of pillows and crates in the cornucopia, waiting for her three alliance members to get back to the cornucopia. Soon enough, they trot in with sweaty faces and weapons in hand. Lumara waves, giving them a half-smile. "So, who's staying here this time?"
Thetis and Triton look at one another, trying to mentally communicate whose turn it is to guard the cornucopia. Surprisingly, it's Dimitri who steps forward before they have a chance to say anything. "I'll take a shift here - you three can tackle the main slope today. I have a feeling that someone's going be there today."
Triton nods tersely, grabbing a cloth to rub on his face. One rough scrubbing later, he throws away the cloth and looks at the pile of food at the back of the cornucopia. "Anything for lunch today, Lumara?"
Lumara grins, gesturing to three plates that she's stocked up with dried jerky, small containers of meat stew - a sponsor gift for killing the boy from Eight - and orange slices. "All for you three. I already ate, so I'll be alright. Dig in!"
The others do, quickly finishing the meal. They munch on the meat stew, Dimitri finishing his portion efficiently while Triton and Thetis linger on their own, just a minute, to appreciate the taste of it all. It occurs to Lumara that she had the chance to poison their meal and get rid of three competitors, just like that, but she's too nervous to try anything of the sort. She's not very good with poisons - not yet, at least. If she put too little or too much in one of the meals, she might be dead right after them all.
She doesn't want to be dead in the final eight because she got too hasty.
After all, they're keeping her alive. Without them, it would be just her and the four other tributes in the arena.
She prefers having the company for now.
A quieter chapter, but we're gearing ourselves for quite a ride soon. Are you ready?
Thoughts, concerns, ideas? Share them in a review! Thank you to those still reading, y'all are awesome.
Enjoy. Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ